


Start of Something New

by mshkfk



Series: Silent Sundays [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Collars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mshkfk/pseuds/mshkfk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek decide to take their relationship to the next level by collaring Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> So, all the love I've gotten from Silent Sunday pretty much resulted in this. This _never_ would've happened otherwise. This is a prequel to show not where Derek and Stiles started, but it shows a major point in their relationship that changed a lot of things after this. That has no bearing on this one, so you can read it as a stand-alone. Also, I suppose, because it comes first.
> 
> My absolute biggest thanks and appreciation goes out to my new favorite person, [bookgodess15](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bookgodess15/pseuds/bookgodess15), for the absolute best beta a girl could ask for. Any mistakes found hereafter are most definitely mine.
> 
> Also, it should be noted that I've intended for Stiles to be 17. Of course, the age of consent in California is 18, so what he and Derek are doing is only very slightly and technically illegal.

The thing is, it’s not a surprise.

They’ve been looking at collars online for the past two months. It’s been discussed extensively, their relationship moving to the next level, and how, exactly, that would work. The two of them sat down when Stiles wanted more of the Dom/sub lifestyle and talked about full-time submission and what it means with their already-alternative supernatural lifestyle.

Stiles wants to serve, to put his trust into Derek, to completely give up his choices. And it’s been a process for both of them—not smooth, but just about as seamless as they could ask for. Stiles is gradually working up to asking Derek for things he normally just does. Derek doesn’t tend to withhold permission for bathroom visits or food, as that’s just mean, but he does want Stiles to ask. He also has a bedtime in place and set periods of time for homework. It’s an adjustment, pretty much all the time, for Stiles to shift gears into doing what Derek’s telling him, but Stiles knows who’s boss (literally) and he gives in eventually.

Derek’s discovered that he really doesn’t mind it when Stiles tries to question him or push boundaries early on. He’s testing, getting to know Derek’s style, and they both need to know exactly where they’re at. It’s a good thing, and Derek allows it until he can tell Stiles is pushing just to get a rise out him. _Then_ it turns into punishment, and Stiles is aware of the line.

So after weeks of working the kinks out of their new lifestyle, after months of searching for _just the right collar_ , they finally find it. Stiles is even there when he orders it.

But when the collar arrives in an unassuming brown UPS box, Derek hides it in his dresser to present to Stiles at just the right time. Stiles deserves to have it be a special moment, and Derek wants to give him that. Because he can.

So it isn’t _technically_ a surprise, but maybe it can be?

He knows he can’t wait long, though, because Stiles _knows_ it’s coming and is... _impatient_. Yeah, that’s the right word.

So one Friday night, when the sheriff is away at a law enforcement seminar and Stiles is absolutely not spending the night, Derek decides to cook dinner.

Which isn’t a thing. Really. Derek cooks sometimes. When he has reason to. 

“I could’ve cooked,” Stiles says for the third time, as Derek checks the water that’s _still_ not boiling.

“I wanted to.”

When Stiles looks like he’s about to jump in and help, Derek holds up a hand. “Stop.”

Stiles is mid-hop off the counter and actually freezes with his arms holding his ass off the granite, legs stretched out to land.

Derek points to the floor next to the oven. He’s got a cutting board set up on the counter there so he can finish chopping the onion. Stiles apparently _thinks_ that’s what he’s going to be doing, but before he can pick up the knife, Derek stops him with a hand to his shoulder. “Kneel.”

And there it is.

Stiles drops to his knees and winces as he hits a little hard.

Derek makes a mental note to get more cushions to strategically drop throughout the loft, because this is going to be a thing that happens more often now. And he has to stop himself from reaching down to palm his dick, because Stiles on his knees is a sight that’s never going to get old.

Stiles is... surprisingly quiet as Derek finishes up the rest of the prep work. They talk sporadically about Stiles’ day, about whether he’s going to be on the lacrosse team next season, about nothing werewolf-related, and Derek gets dinner ready. It’s a quick process once it gets rolling. Everything’s in the pan and Stiles is setting the table and it’s nice.

When dinner is done, Stiles insists on doing the dishes. Derek isn’t having any of it, though, and is sorely tempted to bind Stiles’ wrists behind his back and chain him to the couch, but... that isn’t the route he wants to venture down tonight. 

Instead, Derek lets Stiles put away what he washes and dries, and Stiles only pouts a little.

“I’m _willing_ to help. Why won’t you let me?”

Derek watches him put the knives back into their drawer. “You’re helping.”

“Dude, this isn’t helping. I always do the cooking and the dishes at home. I don’t mind doing that for you. Dad’s usually too busy or too tired to get them done, and that’s what I’m there for. I like doing it. You’re busy, too. Um, doing—doing lots of lurking, right?”

Derek glares and makes a mental note to remember the lurking comment for later. “I’m not cut off at the hip, Stiles. I like to do things for you, too.”

Stiles holds up his hands in self-defense and nods. “Yeah, dude, I get it.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek snaps.

“Yes, Master,” he smirks.

Derek stills with a wet pot in his hand and blinks, looking over at Stiles.

It’s the first time that word’s ever come out of his mouth in that particular context, and Derek’ll be damned if it doesn’t make his dick stir just a little. They need to work on Stiles’ tone, though.

Stiles seems to notice its effect on him, and his smirk actually turns into a smile. He doesn’t say anything, which is unusual in and of itself, but when he quietly turns and goes into the living room, Derek has to frown.

He can hear Stiles' heart beating steadily, and his nose easily picks up on Stiles' contentment, but he has no real idea what's going on in Stiles' head. Those werewolf powers are more limited than Derek likes to let Stiles believe. 

Without the distractions, Derek finishes with the dishes fairly quickly. He dries his hands and heads into the main room after Stiles. He finds him kneeling next to what is commonly known as “Derek’s spot” with his hands folded behind him.

He doesn’t even look real, like this is something Derek could even have.

He’s continually surprised that he’s allowed to get Stiles like this, like no one else gets to see him. That Stiles trusts him to this level worries him, but he’s been reassured time and again that he’s deserving of that trust.

Derek’s still working on believing it. He’s almost there.

Instead of heading over to sit next to where Stiles kneels, Derek makes a detour into his bedroom. He digs in the drawer and pulls out the ornate box that the collar rests in.

Derek goes back out to the living room and Stiles raises his eyes when he hears him approaching. As soon as he sits, Stiles leans against Derek’s leg.

“Is that—it came?” he asks, eyes flickering between Derek and the box in his hands.

Derek sets the box down on his knees and opens it so they can both get a first look at the collar inside (Derek didn’t peek early; he has patience, unlike some people). The chocolate leather is soft, almost worn-looking. A silver ring is centered in the leather, and its many uses will have Derek’s mind reeling when he really starts to think about it. The collar is nestled in blue crushed-velvet in the box, next to a tiny padlock. He reaches in and turns the strip of leather over to reveal black the suede that’s meant to rest against Stiles’ neck. 

It’s absolutely perfect.

Stiles’ heartbeat is erratic now, his breathing shallow as he watches Derek take the collar out of the box. The scent of arousal is tingeing the air, but Derek doesn’t need those signs to know that Stiles wants this. They’ve discussed it a couple dozen times, and then some.

Still, Derek is nothing if not thorough when it comes to this aspect (or any aspect) of their relationship. “You know what this means.”

Stiles gives him a _no, duh_ look. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Tell me.”

“Seriously?”

Derek nods, fingers turning the collar over in his hand. He can’t get over how soft it is.

“The collar is a physical symbol that I belong to you,” Stiles murmurs, pressing his shoulder firmly into Derek’s leg, “that I love you, and I’m willingly giving myself to you, to be your submissive, your slave.” He tears his eyes away from the collar and looks up at Derek. Those brown eyes are so warm and full of love right now that Derek kind of wants to pick him up and take him in the bedroom to fuck. But Stiles still isn’t done. “That I trust you to take care of my needs, of me, as I take care of you. And that I want to give up control to you and serve you to the best of my ability.”

Derek’s throat has gone dry, so he swallows so he can ask one more question. “Are you sure you want the lock? We can take it off when you’re done here, so no one asks about it.”

Stiles physically jerks back and stares up at him like he’s lost his mind. “Are you serious right now? I want the world to know. I’m not ashamed of us, Derek. We don’t have to tell them everything, because they won’t understand, not right away. But we can start off small.”

Derek isn’t keen on sharing this particular aspect of their lives, because Scott, especially, won’t understand. He already thinks Derek’s a bad influence on Stiles (though he keeps his disdain pretty quiet), and hearing Stiles call himself Derek’s slave will probably only make things worse. But Stiles is positive he can make Scott understand at least a little of what they do, of what it means, so Derek is open to trusting Stiles’ judgment on the matter.

Speaking of, Derek’s drawn back to the term Stiles used earlier. “Did you mean it? When you called me _Master_?”

Stiles inches back to where he was before he jerked himself away, then rests his head on Derek’s knee. He turns his eyes up to look at him. “Yes, I think so. I mean, I kind of tossed it out there, to see how you reacted. If you didn’t like it, I could play it off as a joke, but... it helps, I think.”

“Helps?” Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair. It’s so soft, and he likes it longer. He’s glad Stiles made the decision to grow it out a year ago or so.

“Yeah. Like, obviously there’s the Derek I have right now, and the Derek I have with Scott and Isaac and Allison. So... even though I’m still your slave, we act different around them, right?” He looks for assurance, Derek thinks, and he must get it, because he goes on. “So calling you Master in private is an easy way to acknowledge that you’re mine and not theirs.”

That makes a lot of sense. Derek can understand that reasoning.

“That works for you?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. But then something else occurs to him, something that actually _hasn’t_ come up, with all the talking about this they’ve done. “What about your dad?”

Stiles blanches, but recovers quickly. “What do you think?”

He shrugs, because he’s never really considered telling their pack what they do, let alone Stiles’ parental figure. “I think he’ll know what it means.”

Stiles nods, because while Scott is all sunshine and rainbows (except where Derek’s mostly concerned), Stiles’ dad comes with guns and threats of burial in a ditch. Derek doesn’t want the sheriff to misunderstand and go after Derek with wolfsbane bullets and a shovel.

“If he says something, I’ll answer in a way that won’t get you killed. Sound good?”

Really, that’s all Derek can ask for. He nods and smiles down at Stiles.

It still gets him, still makes him feel strange, that he smiles readily now. Usually only when Stiles is around, granted, but it’s still not something he’s used to.

“So I was reading _50 Shades_ the other day,” Stiles grins at him, and it takes Derek a great deal of effort to stop himself from smacking his own forehead.

“What.”

“And I was thinking—”

Derek rubs at his temple. “Stiles. You are not bringing that book into this relationship.”

He tries to frown, Derek can see, but it’s not quite there. “Why not?”

Derek just levels him with a stare.

“One more thing,” Derek starts after a moment, and Stiles groans. Derek has to chuckle at that.

“What?”

Derek reaches out and pinches his nipple through his shirt. “Beg pardon?”

Stiles glares at him, “Yes, Derek?”

“Rules.”

Stiles blinks. “Rules?” he repeats.

“You know most of them already. We’ve been over this. What’s first?”

That doesn’t slip past him. “Most of them?”

Derek smirks. “We’ll get there. What’s first?”

“Safe words.”

He nods. “What else?”

“No coming without permission.” Stiles makes a face at that one, because Derek tends to make him work for that orgasm.

“What else?”

“Um...” Stiles frowns, shifts a little, and shrugs. “That’s it?”

“About those orgasms...” And Derek tries not to smile when Stiles narrows his eyes. “You’ll belong to me. So we’re going to be limiting those to one a week.”

His jaw drops and he frantically shakes his head. “Derek, come on. That’s not even—seven a week. One a day. Please?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “Two.”

“Six,” Stiles bites his lip and he seems to be relieved that Derek’s willing to negotiate this aspect of the rules.

“Three.” Never let it be said that Derek isn’t generous, but he’s not going to be a push-over.

Stiles considers this briefly. “How about five?”

“How about three?” Derek is willing to work with him, but only so far.

“Four?”

“Two.”

“Three it is!” Stiles throws his hands up in defeat. “Three a week.”

Derek presses a hand to Stiles’ cheek, draws his attention back. “You good?”

Stiles smiles and it’s genuine. “I’m _okay_ , Derek.”

“And on Sundays, we’re going to have some time to ourselves.”

Now Stiles looks skeptical. “ _How_? Everyone comes and goes from here like it’s the public library.”

Derek traces his fingers over the collar. “New rules, new boundaries. They’ll stay away on Sundays, unless there’s an emergency.”

Stiles nods, though he still looks like he doesn’t believe it. “That’s it? Just us on Sundays?”

“Not... _quite_. You won’t be talking on Sundays.”

This draws an indignant squawk out of Stiles and his hands start flailing. Derek spares a brief thought to restraining him, but decides to let it go for now. “What? No talking? At all?”

“No. We’ll work up to no sounds, either. But for now, no talking.”

Stiles looks like he’s about to have a meltdown. “How the—how am I supposed to not talk? Derek, I talk. I talk for a living. It’s what I do. I’m all about the talking. I practically came out of the womb babbling like a lunatic. Talking is who I am.”

“Who you are is mine,” Derek tells him, looking him in the eye. “With this collar, things are going to change. You know that, we’ve been working on that. If you want this, if you want what the collar symbolizes, you’ll do what I’m telling you. Sundays are non-negotiable. There won’t be any talking.”

“But I... I can’t do that. You _know_ I can’t do that.”

This isn’t exactly untrue. Derek holds no illusions that the first Sunday, or even first couple Sundays, will be perfectly talk-free for Stiles. “No,” he admits, “there will be a learning curve. But talking on Sundays will warrant punishment and you’ll learn.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“I’m not doing this to punish you. I’m doing this because I promise you that you’ll get something out of it. Trust me, Stiles.”

And there it is. Stiles nods and visibly relaxes. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask. If it really isn’t working after a couple tries, I won’t force you to keep at it. But you need to understand, completely, that I have your best interests at heart, okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and Derek has to kiss him. Stiles is stubborn, but he’s also obedient. Derek’s slowly learning that Stiles really does trust him as much as he says he does, so playing the trust card is what seems to reel him in on issues they disagree on. Derek would never use it against him, of course, but he will apply it to Stiles’ logic when he needs him to acquiesce to an important facet of their lifestyle. Derek, in turn, will give in when he feels Stiles is fighting for something he believes to be truly right, as long as it works for both of them. It’s as much a give and take as any other relationship, just with different standings.

Stiles kneels up straight, perfect posture, and lifts his chin.

If that isn’t an obvious sign, Derek doesn’t know what is.

Derek slides the collar around Stiles’ neck and buckles it into place, notching it so that it’s tight, but making sure he’s still able to wiggle two fingers inside the band.

He picks the lock up out of the box and holds it up to show Stiles. “Ready?”

Stiles reaches up and runs his fingertips over the leather, slipping one inside to test the room. He nods.

Derek slides the lock into place and there’s a tiny clicking noise when it’s closed.

Stiles’ eyes are wide, but he looks... almost dazed, like he’s off in space. Almost as if—

Huh.

The collar, the discussion, Stiles’ heartfelt declaration, the _lock_. It was enough.

Derek leans down and pulls Stiles into a kiss, bringing both hands up so his fingers can outline the collar around his neck. Stiles shivers and opens his mouth, enticing Derek and drawing him in. Derek allows it, permits Stiles to tangle their tongues together before he takes charge. He slips his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, tracing his teeth, exploring, and then pulls back to nip at his lower lip.

Stiles groans and blinks his eyes open, looking absolutely _gone_.

Derek loves him a lot.

“Get up. Strip and go lie on the bed and prep yourself. Two fingers.”

Derek watches Stiles scramble up and dash to the bedroom, hears him fling himself onto the bed.

Derek takes the box and sets it on top of his dresser, then leans against the dresser to watch Stiles do as he’s told. A quick cursory glance around the room sees Stiles’ jeans flung over by the window, his briefs near the headboard, and his shirts close to the door. Derek’s pretty sure he’s going to make him pick those up later. Maybe. If he deigns to let Stiles out of bed at all.

Derek’s eyes flicker around the room, taking in all the places he can screw in hooks to cuff Stiles to. He’s kept him bound before, had him cuffed and restrained, but now that he can do it all the time, whenever the mood strikes him, the options are unlimited.

But then his eyes shift to the bed and Stiles holds his attention. Stiles already has his two fingers buried deep in his hole, Derek notes with surprise, watching Stiles scissor them and stretch himself open. When his eyes flicker over to Derek, he spreads his legs wider and whines deep in the back of his throat.

“Derek, _please_ ,” he gasps and keeps moving his fingers in and out. “Please.”

That’s… Stiles is begging and needy, and _Jesus_ , Derek doesn’t know what he did to deserve such wanton responsiveness. He’s been dealing with that semi since Stiles dropped to his knees in the kitchen, but this—this is Stiles submitting and pleading with him. His dick is definitely fully hard now, and Derek loves that he causes as much of a reaction in Stiles as Stiles elicits in him.

He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it in the corner. Contrary to popular (Stiles’) belief, Derek can be messy sometimes, too. Before he goes further, though, he opens the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out a set of cuffs. They’re some he got when they started this, and Stiles has grown very fond of them, because they’re lined with fleece and they feel nice. Stiles is watching him closely, and when he sees the leather in Derek’s hand, he throws his head back and groans.

Derek’s pants go next, and Stiles looks impatient as Derek stands in front of him in just black briefs. It’s not like Derek can ever deny Stiles for very long, so he shucks them, too, and climbs on the bed to kneel between Stiles’ legs. He draws Stiles’ fingers out and wraps the cuff around his thin wrist. Stiles is whimpering as Derek buckles it in place, and when he wraps the leather around his other wrist, Stiles starts thrusting his hips up. He’s impatient, and Derek can understand why. This is their first time with the collar and Derek wants to fuck straight into Stiles and ignore everything else, but at the same time, he _can’t_. Stiles needs to be restrained as much as Derek needs to restrain him.

Before he can keep Stiles waiting much longer, Derek lifts Stiles’ arms and links them together through the rungs of the headboard and uses a small clip to keep them right where they are.

“Stiles?” He looks down to see him practically writhing on the bed.

Derek hasn’t actually _done_ anything yet.

Stiles looks back at him from under hooded lids and bucks his hips up, as if Derek couldn’t tell what he wanted. “Okay.”

They have three signals in the bedroom, each with a verbal and corresponding non-verbal communicator. _Okay_ means everything is kosher, _passive_ means they need to slow down or talk it out, and because it’s Stiles, _FBI_ means stop.

Derek traces his hand over the collar again, watches as Stiles turns his head to bare his neck. The submission is beautiful, so Derek’s tongue follows his fingers and he starts sucking and biting marks into Stiles’ skin above and below the leather.

“Derek. God, fuck, Derek, please, _fuck me_ ,” Stiles moans into his ear.

He can’t say no to that, so he grabs the lube from where Stiles dropped it and slicks himself up. Gently, because he only had Stiles use two fingers, he presses into Stiles’ heat, and keeps going until he’s fully seated. It takes everything he’s got not to start thrusting immediately, because the way Stiles smells like home and his. Stiles is _his_ now.

Derek’s usually pretty quiet during sex, leaving the noises all up to Stiles, but being with him like this, after collaring him, he can’t hold back the groan of satisfaction of feeling Stiles around him, hot and tight.

“Master, please.” Stiles presses down on Derek, shifts his hips against him, begging him to move in every way he knows how.

Derek’s never going to get enough of hearing that word, of hearing Stiles submit to him verbally so freely. And now he’s using it with the meaning it deserves, so Derek can’t help but want to give Stiles everything.

Derek pulls back and presses in slowly, kissing his way up from the collar to Stiles’ lips. “Say it again.”

“ _Master_ ,” Stiles says against his lips. “ _Please_. Fuck me harder.”

Those are exactly the words Derek wants to hear, ones that send a shudder down his spine, so he does as Stiles asks. He slams his hips down into him, over and over, with such force that Stiles’ is slowly making his way up to the head of the bed.

Derek pushes himself up and angles his hips so he can better angle at Stiles’ prostate. He knows when he gets it right, because Stiles screams and he grasps at the headboard, trying to get himself leverage.

Derek likes him losing control, likes it when Stiles can’t keep up. Derek uses one arm to hold himself up, doing his best to keep Stiles off-balance while he thumbs at the collar, at the marks he’s made on the skin surrounding it.

“So beautiful,” Derek whispers, because Stiles is. His head is back against the pillow, the collar stark against his pale skin. A deep red flush runs all the way from his cheeks to his chest, which is heaving as he tries to keep pace with Derek. His hips thrust forward each time to meet Derek’s and his cock is turning a shade of purple, having gone untouched the entire time.

Stiles Derek lowers himself down onto his forearms, both of which are on either side of Stiles’ head, and he leans down to slide his lips over Stiles’. The kiss isn’t much more than them breathing into each other’s mouths, but Derek feels closer to him, feels like Stiles is helping him breathe.

“Master, just— _please_ —I need to come.” His hips are jerking and he’s tugging at his wrists behind the headboard. He’s looking up at Derek, desperate and wild, and so incredibly perfect that Derek can’t actually believe that Stiles belongs to him.

Derek pulls back and smiles down at Stiles. “Go ahead. Whenever you can.”

“I—” he gasps, “I need...”

He knows what Stiles wants, but not tonight. He’s seen Stiles come untouched before once, on a vibrator, and Derek wants to see if Stiles can do it on his cock.

Instead of answering, Derek kisses him again, raising a hand to Stiles’ chest. His fingers ghost over a nipple and Stiles keens into Derek’s mouth. He tears away when Derek pinches the nub between his fingers, twisting and pulling.

“Derek— _Master_ — _oh God_ ,” Stiles cries out, his chest heaving and arcing into Derek’s touch. It’s a heady feeling, causing this much of a response in him.

Derek can hear and smell and _feel_ how much Stiles wants to come, how badly he needs it. His pulse is racing and Derek knows he’s teetering right on the edge. Stiles can’t even express himself coherently; he’s just spouting incoherent babble as he tries to push himself to an orgasm.

Derek’s hips are thrusting into him hard and fast, but he can’t resist slowing to what must feel like a crawl to Stiles, just to see what happens when Derek switches things up.

Stiles whines and Derek’s claws are piercing the mattress at the sound. It draws out Derek’s wolf, makes him possessive of what’s his, so he appeases it by biting Stiles’ shoulder. That drags a scream out of him and Derek pulls back just in time to see him come, white spunk shooting onto his belly and chest, a drop of it falling just below his collar on a mark Derek made earlier.

The clenching around his dick is perfect, and Derek thrusts hard one last time before filling Stiles full. His hips stutter to a halt after his orgasm and slowly, he pulls out and shifts himself up and off Stiles. He collapses down next to him for a minute, long enough to get his breath back, long enough to watch Stiles with his eyes closed, mouth open as he gasps in air. His cheeks are as flushed as the rest of him, and it literally goes all the way to his toes.

Derek kneels up beside Stiles, and reaches around to undo the clip holding his cuffs together. He brings his hands out from the headboard, and then takes the cuffs off his wrists. He checks both of them over, making sure no marks or bruises were left. Stiles has this knack for hurting himself even with padded cuffs. He says it’s a gift.

Derek might say otherwise, but Stiles seems to enjoy the bruises, so it’s a moot point.

His wrists are fine, so when Stiles shifts to curl up and looks up at him, Derek lets them go. “I’ll be right back. I need to get a cloth to clean you up.” 

Stiles doesn’t say anything, so Derek pushes off the bed and pads into the bathroom, getting a washcloth off the shelf by the tub to wet with warm water. He considers, as he stands there, getting a salve for Stiles’ penchant for bruising, as often as he’s planning on keeping him restrained. That way Stiles gets to keep his bruises, but Derek gets to make sure he doesn’t hurt for long.

When he’s done at the tub, he fills the cup he keeps near the sink there up with cool water and takes both back into the room. What he _should’ve_ done was stock up on Gatorade, because it’s better for Stiles, but he’ll have to get some the next time he goes shopping.

As he re-enters the room, he sees Stiles running the fingers of his right hand over his neck.

“How’s it feel?”

Stiles grins, watching as Derek runs the cloth over his belly, gently over his cock and balls, and down the crack of his ass. Stiles shifts his legs so Derek has access, lifting one in the air as he’s cleaned up.

“I love it.”

Derek tosses the rag toward the general direction of the bathroom and climbs back into bed with Stiles, holding the glass out to him. “Drink.”

Stiles lifts himself into a semi-sitting position and takes the cup, drinking the water without argument. He takes his time, alternating between sips and long gulps, and when he’s done, he sets the cup on the table beside the bed, shifting to curl up into Derek.

“Did I hurt you?” He has to ask, because there was a while there where he really let himself go.

Stiles is clearly still floating in subspace when he looks up at Derek, his gaze foggy. “It was exactly what I needed. I’m perfect.”

Derek turns them so they’re lying with Stiles’ head on his shoulder, legs tangled together in odd places.

“You’re mine,” he growls in Stiles’ ear. “I think we made it official.”

He hears the steady beat of Stiles’ heart, slowing down to its resting rate.

“Yours, Master. I love you.”

Derek’s heart swells to hear those words, words that a year ago would’ve sent him running for the hills, because he didn’t think he deserved this anymore.

It turns out, he was really wrong. And he couldn’t be happier about that.

“I love you, pup.”

Stiles laughs softly and Derek moves a hand to curl around his neck, fingers resting against the collar. It’s going to be a thing for both of them for a while, and he doesn’t think either of them will mind it much.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments drive the beast, literally. This would NOT exist without them. So share the love :)


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